21. Emily

My days blend into each other as another two weeks pass. I hang around with Elena and Freddie most afternoons, sometimes working in their gardens, sometimes going out shopping with them. It's weird, spending huge sums of money on pretty dresses, but Simon never complains and Freddie's always peer pressuring me into getting more. Sometimes Stefania joins us, but she's usually busy working with Davide and his various businesses. Apparently, she's pretty plugged into the organization.

It's a Tuesday afternoon, about a month into my marriage, when I'm so bored I decide to wander the oasis. The guards are always around, always watching, and I'm not allowed to leave the block without an escort. Which is fine for the most part, though annoying, but today it doesn't matter. I decide to take a tour of the various guest houses.

They're beautiful buildings. I don't know who decorated them, but each one is decked out in designer furniture and expensive-looking art hanging on the walls. Some are themed. There's an ocean house, a mid-century modern house, and a straight-up Victorian like it's directly out of a Jane Austen novel.

I'm starting to wonder if I can move into one when I step onto the threshold of the house closest to the oasis entrance and hear someone playing a piano.

It's a serious surprise. The houses have all been completely empty so far. I look around, wondering if maybe I just barged into someone's home, but I'm very sure this is one of the places designated for visitors.

I drift toward the music. It's a haunting tune, moody and sad. I don't recognize it, but I lean against a wall and close my eyes, letting the sound swirl around me, letting it transport me to some cold, magical kingdom, where all the princesses are ice queens and also very depressed. It's lovely, and when the song stops, my eyes flutter open and spot a shadow move against the far wall, coming from the room at the end of the first-floor hall.

Another song starts and I get closer. This one's more like a loose march of chords without any real structure, and I peer around the corner, very curious who's playing so beautifully.

And find Laura sitting alone on a bench, her back straight, her head swaying slightly, her fingers moving along the keys like they're dancing.

Then she stops. "You can stop lurking. I know you're there. You walk like an elephant."

I open my mouth in shock and look around like maybe she's talking to someone else. "Shit. I'm so sorry. I was just exploring the guest houses and heard you play and I wanted to hear more."

She turns around and studies me. Laura is the strangest of the Bianco siblings—she's young, mid-twenties, with startling hazel eyes and short, dark hair. Her clothes are always simple, usually jeans and a baggy sweater, even when it's hot out.

My spine tingles, and I get the sudden feeling that she's wondering if she should stab me in the chest or not.

"You joined our family at a difficult time," she says, and I'm not even sure how to respond to that. I lean against the doorframe and laugh a little, but she's not smiling.

"I noticed. Simon thought I'd help, but—" I shrug helplessly. "Looks like he was wrong."

"You're helping." She turns away and starts playing again. This time, it's very quiet, but it's the same song as before. "Simon likes you, you know. What did he offer you to get you to marry him?"

I clear my throat, not sure how to respond to those barely connected comments. "Uh, he offered to help my dad. And I don't think he really likes me. I just think he's bored."

"Simon's never bored." She cocks her head. "Do you think he's going to kill my dad?"

I laugh again before realizing she's not kidding. "Absolutely not. Simon loves your dad."

She stops playing and stretches her arms. "You know why I don't hate you?" She turns around before I can respond. "You're here for a reason. You want something. It's a deal, and I can understand a deal. You don't want to screw that up. You have the right incentives."

"Thanks? I think? I'm not really sure how to respond to that." I drift over toward her, arms crossed over my chest. "Simon speaks really highly of you, by the way. So does everyone else."

"Do you like my brother? As more than a means to an end."

I open my mouth to tell her absolutely not, of course I don't, but then I pause because for some reason, I feel like she'd know if I were lying. It's the way she's looking at me, like she can see straight into my brain and read all the little folds there.

"I'm not sure how I feel about Simon. It's complicated." I think of that kiss after the family dinner. About how he invited me into his bed—not to have sex, or so he claimed—and how I wanted to accept.

But I knew that if I did it, if I got under those sheets with him, I'd never want to leave again. I'd be giving up my small bit of privacy, giving up this tiny wall I've built around myself, and I'm not ready for that.

"Feelings are complicated," Laura agrees. "Except sometimes you idiots make it harder than it has to be."

"My dad got scammed," I say, blurting it out, and not sure why I'm telling her at all. I feel exposed, and add, "I think that's why I find it hard to trust him. Simon, I mean."

Laura lets out a breath. "Makes sense, but Simon's one of the most honest people I know. If he says something, you can trust that he means it." She narrows her eyes at me. "You haven't figured that out yet, have you?"

"I mean—" I hesitate because she's right, I still haven't admitted to myself that Simon's been nothing but straightforward with me from the beginning. Our relationship started out with a power imbalance—he caught me stealing and could've ended me then and there—but now he treats me like an equal, and I like that.

"Whatever. Do what you want. I don't even know why I'm pretending to care." She turns back to the piano and raises her hands, but before she starts playing, she looks at me. "You can go away now, please."

"Oh, right." I backpedal to the door. "Sorry to disturb you, uhm, you play beautifully, and?—"

She bangs on the keys, her expression completely flat, until I hurry away. I hear the dissonant chords turn into a beautiful, haunting melody as I step back out onto the sidewalk.

What a fucking weirdo. I mean, seriously, that girl creeps me out, but what she said is really sticking in my head.

Simon's honest. He says what he wants. And he says he wants me to sleep with him in his bed—not necessarily to have sex, but because it would deepen our relationship as man and wife.

I like the idea. I mean, it might make things easier, if we have a little intimacy.

I can't tell if I'm trying to convince myself of something stupid.

But maybe Laura's right. Maybe I am making it more complicated than it has to be—I mean, we're married for five years, right? If I want to sleep in the same bed as my husband, I might as freaking well.

The world won't end. It'll be totally fine.

I march away, already thinking about how I'll broach the subject with him tonight, and worried that he has already changed his mind about the whole thing.